


#2

by colourexplosion



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, Memory Loss/Recovery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, friendship centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 00:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7245670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Louis steps off the jet, hand still clasped in Zayn’s and his legs only slightly shaky. The sun’s just beginning to rise, so it takes a moment for Louis’ eyes to adjust, but when they do, they go wide. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Holy shit,” he says, and stares at the veritable palace in front of him. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“It’s technically just a mansion,” Harry says from behind him, and Louis frowns.</i>
</p><p>[Or, issue number two.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	#2

**Author's Note:**

> part of the xmen au with kate! takes place immediately after #1, so read that first. it's gen, just tagging the main character interaction/friendship. 
> 
> enjoy, thanks for reading, and please don't show anyone/i don't own 1D or xmen!!!!

The jet the kid has is like something out of a comic book or a film, huge and sleek, a design light years ahead of even the most current military models. The ride is smooth and quick, so either this place is much closer than Louis realised or the jet’s fast. Probably both. 

(And isn’t that something. _Louis_ , not Tommo. The instant Zayn had said it was like something slotting into place in his mind, a gentle nudge to remember that he was Louis, that that was his name before — Before.)

Louis can’t help but check the mirrors, the reflections of the kids up there. The boy who found them on the ground and his friend, another boy about his age, wearing hideous red goggles and one of the stupid jumpsuits. They work well together if the way they’re in perfect sync as they control the jet is anything to go by. Louis finds himself watching the boy from the ground as they fly. He’d said his name was Harry, hadn’t he? Harry. There’s something familiar about his face, but Louis’ memory is shit on a good day, so there’s really no telling. 

“Alright?” Harry asks, catching Louis’ gaze in the mirror. Louis scowls, looks away. 

Zayn shifts next to him, clearly uncomfortable, his breath ragged and his face pale. 

“Don’t like flying?” Louis asks, and Zayn shakes his head. Louis lets out a breath, and reaches over to grab Zayn’s gloved hand. Zayn struggles a bit, trying to pull away, but Louis holds fast and looks him right in the eye. 

“You’re alright,” he says. “It’s just a plane.” 

“Never been on one before,” Zayn answers, “Don’t think I’ll do it again, if I’m honest.” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re fine. We’ve already done the loop-de-loop anyway.” 

Zayn’s eyes go even wider. “The what?” 

Louis can’t help it. He laughs.

— 

Louis steps off the jet, hand still clasped in Zayn’s and his legs only slightly shaky. The sun’s just beginning to rise, so it takes a moment for Louis’ eyes to adjust, but when they do, they go wide. 

“Holy shit,” he says, and stares at the veritable palace in front of him. 

“It’s technically just a mansion,” Harry says from behind him, and Louis frowns. 

“Don’t do that,” he says, indignant, and Harry looks down, sheepish. 

“Sorry,” he says, “Don’t really have control over it.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Oh, that’s nice. They send the rookie out to get us. Great.” 

“I’m not a rookie,” Harry says, tone turning petulant. It makes something in Louis’ chest twist, satisfied for a reaction. “I’ve been here longer —” 

“Harry, I need your help,” the goggles bloke says, and Harry blinks, turns to smile at him. “Sure, Liam,” he answers, and lopes off from Louis without a second thought. Louis rolls his eyes. 

“What is this place?” He squeezes Zayn’s hand, relieved to get a squeeze in return. 

“No fucking clue, mate.” 

— 

They’re ushered in by Harry and Liam, led down an extremely well-kept corridor to a blank wall. Only, Harry waves his hand in front of something and it slides so neatly out of place that it’s almost as if it weren’t there in the first place. 

“Totally normal,” Louis mutters to himself, “Totally not weird or creepy at all.” 

Zayn nudges him, a twist to his mouth saying he heard him and Louis smirks, clears his throat. 

Before he can speak, Harry’s got a big hand between Louis’ shoulder blades and is guiding him down the corridor, stark white in contrast to the warm, natural wood he’d seen just before. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Exam room,” Harry says, and Louis raises his eyebrows. 

“Going to play doctor, are we?” 

Harry frowns. “Nurse, more like. I mean, I’m only a nurse, technically.” 

Louis snorts. “You’re not. How old are you? You can’t be over eighteen.” 

“I’m not much younger than you,” Harry says, a frown on his face.

Louis clears his throat and doesn't say anything. He knows Harry’s wrong about that much. When he’d woken all those years ago, half naked and freezing and alone, he’d had dog tags to remind him. _Tommo_ stamped on them, with a number and a date of birth. _1950_ was the year, but he can’t tell Harry that. He wouldn’t believe him. 

“Why wouldn’t I believe you?” Harry asks, startling Louis. He stops at a door and puts his hand on a small pad, raising an eyebrow as the thing beeps at him. 

“Dunno if I could tell you about anything before the early 2000s.” He shrugs at the look Harry gives him and walks through the door. 

— 

Harry makes him strip down to a gown, no matter how many times Louis says that he’s alright. 

“I know that,” Harry insists, “But we’ve got to learn about your mutations. So please?” 

Harry’s got a killer pair of puppy dog eyes and Louis — as loath as he is to admit it — has always been a bit of a pushover when it comes to a pretty face. He winces as Harry prods him over and over, sticking him with needles and waving weird electronics around him and taking his blood pressure. 

“I think I’ve got everything except the blades,” he says, tapping all of his information slowly into a tablet. Louis chews on his bottom lip. He doesn’t know anything about the blades himself, really. 

“I dunno, they’ve always been there,” he says and Harry regards him curiously. 

“Could I see them?” he asks, eyes wide and imploring. “Please?” 

Louis sighs and lifts his hands, extending the sharp metal slowly, trying not to wince. It’s always worse when he doesn’t do it quick. 

Harry looks at them closely, murmuring to himself and examining them, gently rotating Louis’ hands as he does it. Louis has had the most human contact in the last 24 hours than he has in the past decade. It’s overwhelming, really, to be touched like this instead of punched or kicked or jerked off too quickly in a dirty bathroom or, you know, have the life sucked out of him. He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. 

“With the regeneration,” Harry says quietly, but doesn’t finish. Louis knows what he’s asking. He clears his throat and retracts them with another wince, and Harry straightens quickly.

“Yes,” Louis says, “It hurts like a bitch.” 

“You’ve got a lot of pain for someone so young,” Harry says, very obviously avoiding looking at Louis while he adjusts the IV and the little monitor attached to it. 

Louis snorts. “I’m not young,” he says quietly, and Harry’s gaze catches his. There’s pity there, but also maybe understanding. The expression is gone in the next instant and Harry shrugs.

“Not technically,” he says, marking something on an electronic tablet. “But I don’t suppose it counts if you can’t remember more than half your life.” 

It startles a laugh from Louis, a bark so loud that he surprises himself and Harry looks smug. Louis clears his throat, regains composure. He doesn’t need to be endeared by these people, by this boy. Being alone works better. “I guess you’re right.” He sits up, tears the needles and tape off his arm.

“What are you — Louis please, lie down.” 

Louis looks at him, raises an eyebrow. “Why? You’re not done?” 

Harry shifts, sets the tablet down. “Yes, but you need your rest,” he says gently, hands coming up to rest on Louis’ shoulders. He flinches away before Harry can make contact with a sharp, “Don’t.” 

Harry pauses, fingers flexing, his head tilting in clear submission. “I’m only trying to help,” he says, but doesn’t back down. 

Louis grimaces, annoyed, but lays back down anyway. “I hope you gave my friend the same attention,” he says, wincing as Harry puts his IVs back in. 

“Who, Zayn?” Harry asks, and Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t have any other friends, do I?” 

Harry seems to consider it, humming as his fingers deftly tape the needles back in place. Louis’ skin tingles with the contact after he’s moved on, tapping on the screen of the tablet. Louis drops it, not particularly wanting to talk anyway. As sure as he is that he could get some good reactions out of Harry, he just doesn’t feel like it. Not when these people have been so kind to him and not when he’s leaving so soon anyway. There’s no point. Not really. 

“You could, you know,” Harry says when he’s done, glancing up at Louis like he knows what he was thinking. _I do_ , Harry’s voice says in his head, making Louis frown deeply. 

He bristles, shifting on the bed. “Could what?”

“Stick around, make friends.” Harry shrugs. “Might not be so bad.” 

Louis narrows his eyes. “What, did you see it in my future or something? Is that what the fates told you I’d do?” 

Harry goes still as stone and Louis knows he’s gone too far. He knows better, he knows _better_. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

“It’s just a suggestion,” Harry says, stepping away from the bed and toward the door. “But, you know. No obligation, especially since being alone has worked out so well for you in the past.” 

He turns and stalks out the door, and Louis lets his head thump back on the pillow. “Idiot,” he mutters to himself, and hopes no one hears him. 

— 

The thing is, that despite himself, Louis ends up staying. 

He’s only ever wanted to live in solitude, wanted to be alone hide and only come out when he needed money or whatever. So, he’d done that for a decade or two — and who knows how long before — but then, meeting Zayn. Well, he’d forgotten how lonely he actually was until he spoke to someone, forged a connection and then almost lost it. He is lonely, is the thing, and he doesn’t want to be anymore. 

That also doesn’t mean he wants to interact with anyone in this place, particularly, but he doesn’t really have another option. 

There’s a boy that’s taken to following him around, well, no. There’s a boy who’s taken to following _Zayn_ around, a boy named Niall who can manipulate ice and probably does dumb things like make Zayn ice roses or hearts or whatever it is that kids do nowadays to show someone they’ve got a crush. Still, the two of them are entertaining at least, and don’t seem to get upset when Louis gets annoyed and leaves them alone. It works out well for everyone, really. 

The other thing is that he’s started remembering. Nothing big, nothing substantial, just feelings and disjointed memories that come to him in flashes, make him shake awake, drenched in sweat. The deep thrum of helicopter blades, splintered glass stained with blood, blood between his fingers, blood soaking through his clothes, blood, blood, blood. A woman’s laugh, high-pitched and full of joy. Water filling his mouth and his lungs, choking him. White hot pain like he’d never felt before. The sound of gunfire. Too many for him to count and nothing solid enough to remember. No names, no places. Just feelings, sounds. Just enough to unsettle him, and not enough to give him answers. 

Louis knows he’s not the only person who has nightmares in this place, but he also doesn’t have anyone he can talk to about it. Not that he wants to talk about it, obviously, but the option would be nice. 

Really, Harry’s the only one who walks around looking as miserable as Louis feels. It makes him wonder if Harry’s power works while he’s sleeping, if maybe he’s dreaming the same dreams as Louis is, waking up in the same cold sweat and panting for breath, but then he reminds himself that Harry’s not his friend. That he doesn’t have to care. 

Apparently Harry hasn’t gotten the memo though, as he plops himself down on a bench next to Louis on a rare sunny winter’s day. Louis has been watching Niall and Zayn muck about in the snow, pelting each other with snowballs and Niall impressing Zayn with his ice sculptures. Granted, the six foot ice Christmas tree is pretty cool, but Louis isn’t planning on telling them that. 

“Hey,” Harry says as he sits. His hands fidget with a small hole in his jeans and Louis, despite himself, can’t help but reply. 

“Did you need something?” 

No one said it was going to be a nice reply. 

Harry stiffens a bit, but nods, and Louis wishes he’d just get on with whatever it is he wants. 

“Could I — Could I show you something?” Harry asks, his hands stilling, looking Louis directly in the eye. It throws him off, makes him blink, shrink back. Most of the people here give him a wide berth, but Harry’s never been like that. Even when Louis was insulting him. Well, mostly, anyway. 

“Like a real thing or an in my head thing?” he asks, trying to sound as neutral as he can. 

“A memory,” Harry says, not sounding pissed off. “One of my memories.” 

Louis clears his throat and nods, flinching slightly when Harry’s hand comes at his head. “What, here? Right now?” 

Harry’s brow furrows, and he looks around. “Where else?” 

He has a point. Their options are outside or inside, and this place is so populated that there’s not really any privacy anywhere, save one of the exam rooms, and Louis isn’t going back down there. He hadn’t liked it. 

“Alright, then,” he says, and leans forward. 

Harry smiles at him, blinding, and puts his fingers to Louis’ temple. 

—

Alarms blare in the background as Louis moves quickly, running as fast as he can, slashing at anything that comes near him. He doesn’t know where he is or who he is or what he is, but he knows — he’s got to get out of here, he can’t be in here. There’s blood on his hands, on his chest, on his claws — they’re metal, he’s got _metal fucking claws, what the fuck is happening_ — and there’s yelling and screaming and gunfire and for a moment he thinks maybe it’s a battlefield. 

Except, then it comes into focus, the dark walls, the sliding doors, the bodies all around him. Not a battlefield, but not somewhere safe. 

There’s a voice speaking just behind him, low and calm, and he turns to see a boy, with dark hair and wide, kind eyes. Harmless, he can tell. Completely harmless. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the boy says, a pale hand outstretched. Louis flinches away from it, but the boy makes a soothing noise, murmurs, “it’s okay,” and touches his cheek. There’s warmth, peace, a gentle tugging at the back of his brain, things he’d forgotten getting dusted off but not moved out into the light. The boy smiles, removes his hand to pull off the sticky things on Louis’ chest and head and looks him right in the eye. 

“Louis,” he says, removing his hand completely. “That should help.” 

The boy smiles, blinding, a dimple appearing and Louis finally recognizes him.

— 

Louis pulls away with a ragged gasp, scooting to the other side of the bench, his hand coming up to touch the spot where Harry’s fingers just were. 

“You,” he says, looking at Harry, who’s sitting calmly in the same spot on the bench. “You were — Why didn’t I remember?” 

Harry shrugs and says delicately, “There could be lots of reasons. Most likely it was just too — too soon after you’d, you know. Escaped. Or, whatever.” 

Louis snorts, despite himself, some of the tension leaving his body. “Eloquent,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s — I feel like I would’ve remembered you.” 

Harry frowns. “I didn’t make it up. I can’t just do that, you know.” 

“I know,” Louis says, holding up a hand to placate him. “I wasn’t saying — I’m just surprised, is all. Um. Thank you.” 

Harry tilts his head. “It’s no problem. I mean, you deserved to know. Your life, and all that.” 

“Right,” Louis says, clearing his throat. “Well thank you for, you know. Helping me then too, I suppose.” 

Harry grins at him. “You’re welcome.” 

Louis expects him to get up and leave, but he doesn’t. He leans back on the bench, practically lounging. Louis stares at him. 

“I could help you more, you know,” Harry says eventually, feigning the worst nonchalance Louis has ever seen. Seriously, the kid would absolutely lose at poker. “Maybe help you remember other stuff, too.” 

It’s tempting, very tempting, but Louis isn’t sure. There’s so much violence in his dreams, and he knows whatever he’s not remembering is probably even worse. He doesn’t know if he could face it. Doesn’t know if he’s strong enough.

“I think you are,” Harry says quietly, and Louis looks at him. He can’t even be annoyed that Harry’s still fucking in his head, because apparently he always has been. “Strong enough, you know. But it’s your choice. Just think about it.” 

Louis doesn’t say anything as Harry stands and gives him one last smile, leaving a trail of footprints in the snow as he makes his way up to the mansion. Louis doesn’t know what he’d say, really. Doesn’t know how he feels about it really. 

He leans back against the bench, letting out a loud sigh. He’s got time to think about it, at least. He’ll just think about it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i'm [here](http://jessimond.tumblr.com) if you wanna talk.


End file.
